


to look at ourselves and see the faces of gods

by innsjovide



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Gen, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:53:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29862540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innsjovide/pseuds/innsjovide
Summary: for whatever we loose, like a you or a me,it's always ourselves that we find in the sea.tarrok runs away from home to start a new life.noatak runs away to escape his old one
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. The Forsaken

The first time Tarrlok saw Agna Q’ela, it nearly took his breath away. If he had been a man with less constitution, it no doubt would’ve. Like most Water Tribe cities, the capital was built into the iceberg, simply because there was nowhere else to build. Crafted entirely out of the will and power of great waterbenders past, the city itself was a testament to the bending art and the element itself- a reminder of their power- a comforting embrace to its people yet a cold-hearted threat to outsiders. As Tarrlok stood in Agna Q’ela’s grand square, he didn’t know which of the two categories he fell into.

Even the plaza he stood in must’ve been bigger than the entire village he grew up in, and it held twice the amount of people. Tourists, both from the country like him and the other nations, businessmen in quilted formal parkas, families simply milling about their everyday lives. Even though he was sure no one would notice one more college student fresh out of the snowfields gazing at the sky above him, Tarrlok couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as he stood in the middle of the plaza, taking a moment to truly breathe it all in. 

Looming above him stood a magnificent statue of ice, crafted in a way that made it glisten in the afternoon light. It depicted a woman, no older than Tarrlok himself, with her arms outstretched in a waterbending form, her palms to the sky. The more Tarrlok stared at the statue, the more he recognized the woman as Katara, often regarded as one of the greatest waterbenders in history. Despite hailing from the southern tribe, she had earned enough respect to get herself a statue in Agna Q’ela. 

A cold shiver ran down Tarrlok’s spine as he remembered words his father had once spoken about Katara- he had called her a coward, among other things. Yakone seemed to hate Katara almost as much as he hated her husband, the Avatar. Tarrlok didn’t know what to make of either of them. He had to remind himself that his father had died years ago and that he no longer had to fear his shadow looming over his shoulder. He was safe now, starting a brand new life in the capital. He was going to get an education and pursue an honest career in politics, no bending ever required. He could forget everything about his father and brother.

Despite Tarrlok’s efforts, the positive reassurance did nothing to make him feel better.

* * *

“And you are…” the admissions officer muttered, tracing her finger over the paperwork. “Tarrlok?”

Tarrlok nodded, sparing a moment to once again glance around the small office he found himself in. It was cozy, lit by oil lamps. The scent of oil lamps always reminded him of his home, and of his mother. Those had always been happier memories. “Yep. I am.”

“Great.” The officer continued, adjusting her eyeglasses as she read. “And you’re from…”

“Nahanni.” Tarrlok supplied. “It’s pretty far east, a bit close to the Fire Nation. There isn’t much there.”

“No kidding.” The officer muttered to herself. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that town in my life.”

Tarrlok nodded but didn’t say anything further. When his father had picked a place to hide from the law, he had picked it well. Nahanni was as far from anything as humanly possible.

“And you’re a scholarship student, right?” The officer raised an eyebrow, clearly questioning how someone from such a rural area could afford to attend the most prestigious college in the tribe. 

“I am.” Tarrlok replied, maintaining a calm tone of voice. “My father was only a hunter.” He bit his tongue after saying the necessary lie. 

“Was?” The officer prompted. 

Tarrlok took a heavy breath before responding. “He, along with my older brother, died years ago in a hunting accident. It’s pretty common out there.” The lie stung in how close to the truth it was, but if the officer noticed anything, she didn’t say it.

“I’m so sorry.” The woman whispered sympathetically. “We only have a few more questions before you can go to your new dorm- are you a bender?”

Tarrlok’s heart lurched at the question. A trait that had defined him for so many years, now threatening to be exposed in full view of the world. He had only been asked the question once or twice in earnest, and it had been a long, long while since it had happened. 

It occurred to Tarrlok that he had overstayed the time usually taken to answer the question. “Uh. Yes. I’m a waterbender.” Here, he wasn’t anything else. 

“Alrighty…” The officer made a note on the paperwork. “Are you planning to take any bending courses this year?”

Tarrlok shook his head. Bending was the last thing he wanted to do here- it was why he had left. 

“Shame.” The officer sighed. “We could always use more good waterbenders. There’s a new healing class opening soon if you want something a little less intensive and a little more practical.”

“No. I’m good.” Tarrlok shook his head again, trying to shake memories of his father from his mind. He never wanted to waterbend again, even if it was to heal. He hadn’t even waterbent in years, the sensation all too familiar and all too painful.

“And you’re studying government and politics, correct?” The officer asked. 

Tarrlok couldn’t hide his relief that they were moving onto a new topic of conversation. “Yes. I am.” He didn’t know why he chose that particular path, other than that one of his friends had suggested it. It would be a nice break from his life before.

The officer nodded, blind to Tarrlok’s thoughts. “Alright. And do you take any regular medications?”

Tarrlok shook his head. “Nope.”

“You should be all set, then.” The officer gave Tarrlok a warm smile, then handed him a small metallic key. “You’re in the east dorm, room 298. That’s on the second floor.”

Tarrlok nodded as he stared at the metallic key in his hand. Redundant as it was, it seemed like the doors to his new life were finally opening.

* * *

To Tarrlok’s relief, he had managed to get a single room- a small space all to himself. To anyone else, the bare walls and utilitarian furniture would’ve been reminiscent of a cell, but it already felt like a home to Tarrlok. It was absolutely nothing like his home. Nothing here reminded him of his father.

After setting his suitcase on the twin bed, Tarrlok started to unpack what little belongings he had brought from home. Most were clothes- casual outfits for everyday outings, thick parkas for the harsh winter. He only had one formal suit, the one he was wearing, and even it had seen better days, being a hand-me-down from Noatak, before he had left. The jacket fit poorly and was five years out of fashion, but it was all Tarrlok had. He suspected he would need to buy a new suit sometime during his time at the capital. 

As soon as Tarrlok had finished putting away his clothes, he moved on to his other belongings- a bag of toiletries, the second-hand textbooks he had bought in the square earlier today, classy metal pens to take notes with. He paused over the letter his mother had written him. Throughout his few-day long trip, it had remained unopen. He had been waiting until now to read it. 

Despite the promise he had made to both his mother and his earlier self, Tarrlok couldn’t bring himself to open the letter. The feeling of terrible, cold fear seeped into the small room, freezing Tarrlok where he stood. He couldn’t bear to move, as if the action would have drastic consequences later. 

Tarrlok shook his head to shake himself out of the trance and removed the letter from his suitcase. He put it on the small desk- neat and orderly on the center of the desk. He would open it someday. In pure and terrible defeat, Tarrlok fell onto his bed and put his hands over his eyees. He resisted the urge to cry. It was over. This is where his sad story came to an end.


	2. The Heir

The scent of saltwater filled Noatak with a certain, inescapable dread he couldn’t hope to place, much less ignore. He supposed it was the vague reminder of his childhood, but he had put so much effort into burying those memories he was surprised he recalled that they lived by the sea. 

The town that he had stopped by was cold, bitterly gray in the midwinter, but it didn’t bother Noatak much. He was from the Northern Water Tribe and had endured far worse than a frostbitten town. If his maps and the fisherman he passed by on the docks were to be believed, this was the town of Irsar, in the north-eastern Earth Kindom. The closest large structure was the Northern Air Temple, which by all accounts was abandoned other than a few acolytes preserving the ancient architecture and culture. In the terms of places to hide out in, it was far from ideal, but it would work for now. 

Despite his self-described resistance to the cold, Noatak couldn’t help but pull his jacket tighter around his body. The cloak was thin for Water Tribe standards, and while he wasn’t in the Northern Water Tribe anymore, the bitter winds of the north still shook him to the bone.

Irsar was a gray town. Unlike the more populous cities of the Earth Kindom, the people wore their cloaks in shades of olive green or even slate gray. He spotted a few blue cloaks, all of them the color of the cloudy sky above them. In his coat of gunmetal gray and taupe, he looked like a local. 

Judging by the piers, shops, and overall stench of the town, Israr was a fishing village. As Noatak passed through the town, he took note of those watching him- small clusters of men loitering by small heat lamps, their faces obscured by the smoke of their cigars and the dim light of the evening. Wearing parkas and hats much more suited to the cold than Noatak’s jacket, they cast long glances at Noatak as he wandered throughout the town. 

“Ey, boy!” One of the men approached him and clasped a cold, gloved hand onto his shoulder. “What’re you doing here in Israr?”

“Leave me alone.” Noatak huffed as he shoved the man away from him. As he made contact with the other person, Noatak felt the unmistakable rush of power of his bloodbending grip. Ever since he was twelve years old, every interaction he had was tainted by the knowledge he could overpower them in only moments, with only the power of his mind and the will of fate. 

“What the-” The man stuttered, stumbling footsteps away from Noatak. “Who do you think you are?”  
Noatak then realized that he had reflexively pushed the man away, though he couldn’t tell if it had been with his body or his mind. He stood with his hand on his forehead, his gaze at his feet. “I’m sorry.’ He turned to keep walking.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man demanded, following Noatak. He walked faster. The man once again grabbed Noatak by the shoulder. “I asked you a question, prettyboy.”

Noatak gripped the man’s hand, squeezing it tight enough for it to be seen as a threat. He removed the hand from his shoulder. “Leave me alone.” He snarled before turning around and walking away. He could hear the man scoffing in shock and muttering something to his friends as he left them with nothing but an interesting story to tell their friends at the bar. 

He pretended he didn’t feel their very life in his bending grip.

* * *

To Noatak’s relief and surprise, the inside of the inn was warm and colorful. It seemed like the entire town’s light was held in this small inn lobby, emitted from gas lamps and candles and a crackling fire at the hearth. He only realized he had been standing in the doorway when someone spoke.

“Hey, you!” The girl at the desk called. “Close the door, you’ll let in a draft.”

Noatak hastily nodded and shut the door behind him, making the inn even warmer. After taking a moment to steady his heartbeat, Noatak approached the desk. “I’d like a room.”

The girl, who had been watching him the entire time, nodded. “Sure thing. What brings you to Israr?”

“I-” Noatak struggled to produce an answer. “I’m traveling south.”

“Mysterious. I like it.” The girl smiled, shuffling around her desk until she produced a book. She set it between them and placed a pen on top of it. “Here. This is the guest ledger, fill it out and I can show you to your room.”

Noatak nodded as he opened the book. Apparently, like most other businesses in the region, the inn operated on a system of trust, hard work, and tradition. “How much is a single room nightly?”

“Just fifteen yuans.” The girl replied with a smile.

After giving a polite nod, Noatak returned to the ledger. There were 4 columns- name, room number, element, check-in date, and check-out date. Each collum was left blank, save for the room number. “Why do you need to know someone’s element?”

“Just a legal precaution.” The girl replied. “Since there’s a lot of earthbenders around here, we want to know who might be tearing up the streets or something. If you’re not a bender, you can just cross it out.”

Noatak nodded and wrote a small x in the element column. “I’m only staying a few days, can I just write in that date for checkout?”

The girl shrugged. “Fine by me.”

That only left the name column. Noatak hesitated, his pen hovering over the page for a moment to long. He settled on writing a name that was not his own, the simple two-syllable name ‘Amon’. He had heard it somewhere before, but he didn’t know where. He returned the book back to the desk girl.

“Nice to meet you, Amon.” The girl said as she read over Noatak’s entry. “Weird name. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. Where are you from?”

“It’s not a common name.” Noatak replied, the lie fresh on his lips but unnatural. He didn’t answer the girl’s question. 

“Alrighty.” The girl sighed as she leaned back in her chair. She stood up and walked to the front of the desk. “Follow me, I’ll get you to your room.”

* * *

The room Noatak had rented was small and bare, only a twin bed and a small desk. After the girl- Noatak regretted not asking for her name- had shown him the room, he had lit the oil lamp and closed the door behind him, isolating himself in this tiny corner of paradise.

The oil lamp cast a warm, dim glow across the room. Noatak wanted nothing more than to drift off into an endless sleep under that warm glow and to forget all his troubles. He resigned himself to unpacking.

Noatak took off his jacket, noting the tear across the left sleeve. Either he would need to learn to sew, or he would need to find a tailor soon to fix it. He supposed the former was the better option.

After setting down his satchel bag, Noatak dug through his few belongings. He didn’t carry much on his person- only necessities. Eventually, he found what he was looking for- a small, leather-bound notebook and a fountain pen bound to it. He had shoplifted both items on his way out of Agna Q’ela, and they had been the only items he had kept from his home nation. Everything else- his old clothes, his hair bands, any reminder of his father- he had burnt long ago. 

Noatak sat on the bed and opened the notebook, flipping to the page he had left off on. His scribbled notes and sketched diagrams meant nothing to the outside viewer, but to Noatak, they were fragments of near-clarity.

A knock sounded at his door, interrupting his thoughts. “Room service!” The desk girl called out.

Noatak opened the door to reveal the girl standing in the hallway, holding two cups of tea. “Figured you might want tea.” She said, gesturing one cup towards him. “Since it’s so cold out, and you aren’t from here.’

Noatak took the cup and resisted the urge to say that he was actually from somewhere far colder. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “Do you want to come inside?”

“Sure!” The girl smiled and walked inside the small room, sitting down at the desk. “I’m Hana, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Hana.” Noatak returned to the bed and drank from his cup of tea before picking up his notebook and pen.

“What’re you writing?” Hana asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Noatak lied. Above everything else, Hana could not know what he was trying to do, what he was planning on doing. Nobody could.

“Alright.” Hana leaned on the back of her chair and took a sip from her own cup of tea. “Where are you going to go after you leave here?”

“South.” Noatak responded. “I’m gonna head to Republic City, eventually.”

“Wow.” Hana sighed. “You know, I have a brother in republic city. Do you have any siblings?”

“I had a little brother.” Noatak responded. Surprisingly, it was the truth. “I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Oh. That’s sad.” Hana replied. “Are you ever going to come back here?”

Noatak couldn’t force an answer, whether the truth or another lie. His silence spoke for itself, and he couldn’t help but get the feeling Hana was disappointed in it.

Hana stood up, her teacup in hand. “I’m gonna leave now. Bring back that teacup in the morning. Goodnight, Amon.”

Noatak didn’t respond as Hana left the room, closing the door behind her. As soon as he heard her footsteps disappearing down the hallway, he returned to his notes.

This was the start of something, he knew it. He just didn’t know what the endgame was yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello , its me, the author
> 
> i had a very fun time writing this and exploring the depths of Tarrlok and Noatak's personalities, and the dynamic they have even when not interacting
> 
> no idea if anyone noticed it, but the two stories are actually written as parallels to one another, in multiple ways.
> 
> anyways hoped yall liked it lol


End file.
